


kiss the hell out of me

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Finger Sucking, M/M, PWP, Pure Porn, dubcon due to sex potion, poor sex potion horny jaskier, possessive!Geralt, smutty slutty porn, very horny jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: Jaskier drinks a potion that isn't meant for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 299





	kiss the hell out of me

Jaskier drums his fingers on the wooden table he’s seated at, singing a disjointed melody and random words under his breath as he eyes the room. _Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty boy_ , he ticks them off in his head as his gaze jumps from person to person. _Ugh, not so pretty,_ he makes a face to himself as his eyes land on a rather overweight, dirty man in the corner, spilling ale down his neck as he drinks mug after mug. Jaskier shakes his head. He’s growing impatient, Geralt said he’d be back in just a moment, _where was he?_ Jaskier’s concern quickly fades as the barman sets two goblets of red wine in front of him and takes a few silver coins from the table.

Jaskier downs his wine fairly quickly, enjoying the warmth of it in his belly. He crosses his leg over his knee and rests his elbows on the table, letting his head rest upon his palms. He’s growing bored. He notices a woman in the corner, watching. He winks and she looks away with almost a grimace, and Jaskier tries not to take it personally, but he does. He gruffs and picks up Geralt’s wine too, downs it in a few gulps. _If he’s not here in time, I get to drink his wine_ , Jaskier sings in his head. He contemplates leaving the table in search of company when Geralt’s swords clang on the chair opposite him.

“You’re back! By the Gods!” Jaskier says, mock surprised, teasing Geralt. “I was just about to send the good folk of this tavern on a search party.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “I was paying for a room for tonight,” at which point Jaskier’s eyes light up - _a warm bed, fire, a pillow!_ “Did you drink my wine?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“Typical.” Geralt rolls his eyes and goes to the bar for two more.

They sit at the table and chat for a while, talking about travel plans for the days to come, and insulting one another in good spirit. Jaskier asks stupid monster questions - _he knows they’re stupid but he loves to annoy Geralt -_ and Geralt entertains him with stories and mythology.

Geralt’s begun rambling about the first monster he ever killed, like Jaskier hasn’t heard this one a hundred times or more, when Jaskier feels it first. Like gentle butterflies landing and tickling across every inch of his skin, arms, neck, lips. He feels hot under his doublet and he peels it off, dropping it on the chair beside him. His hair is damp, sticking to his face in parts and he’s fidgety, more so than usual. There’s an aching feeling deep within his chest and his belly and his groin. He has to cross his legs.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asks, with another drink of wine.

“Are you?” Jaskier quips, more nasty than he means but he’s flustered and on edge.

“I’m fine. Wine?”

Jaskier nods quickly. He doesn’t know if more wine is such a good idea right now, but he needs Geralt to leave him for a moment.

Jaskier can breathe again when Geralt leaves, but it’s sharp and quick and practically panting. Suddenly everyone in the room is no longer pretty. They’re gorgeous, seductive, enthralling. Jaskier wants them all. He pushes his hair out of his face and exhales slowly. He’s only had a few wines, he shouldn’t be feeling this uninhibited.

Jaskier stands up and half-sways into the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face and looks in the mirror. His pupils are blown out, huge black sapphires leaving only a little thin circle of his blue eyes visible. He unbuttons his shirt halfway in an attempt to cool down. He leans against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut and breathes; confused, excited, every inch of him feeling on fire. How the fuck can he go back out there looking, feeling, like this? He needs to compose himself.

“Too many wines, boy?” the door creaks and a raspy voice fills his ears. “Little skinny thing like you can’t hold his drink?”

Jaskier swallows and opens his eyes. A man, maybe a decade or two older than him, with short dark hair and scruff on his face is staring at him, mug of ale in hand. He’s not objectively that good looking, but Jaskier wants to fall to his knees in front of him, have the ale poured down his throat, and feel the man’s hands rough through his hair.

 _Fuck._ “Just a bit dizzy,” Jaskier lies, stammering and barely able to breathe right.

“Mhmm,” the man raises his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

Jaskier wants him to call him _boy_ until the end of time. Jaskier stutters and swallows and sweat beads slide down his temples.

“Hows about I help you to your room, kid, you don’t look so good,” he says, seemingly concerned but there’s a darkness in his eyes.

Jaskier nods because even though he definitely sees right through the man, he doesn’t even care. He wants to follow him and touch and taste and smell him. Jaskier’s head spins as he steps away from the wall and the man takes his arm above the elbow, all but dragging him through the door and down the dimly lit hall to the inn’s overnight rooms.

Meanwhile, Geralt is leaning against the bar in conversation with a woman who seems more interested in him than he is in her. Geralt can smell it as soon as the bathroom door opens. He looks to his left and sees Jaskier stagger from the bathroom with a man’s hand on his arm, pulling him along. Geralt can’t see his face but Jaskier’s hair is damp, shirt half hanging off his right arm and feet tripping up beneath him as he rounds the corner with the man. It’s not like Geralt hasn’t seen Jaskier flirt with men before, but something feels wrong. Jaskier shouldn’t be that drunk, shouldn’t look that sloppy. He has to intervene. The woman seems shocked as he leaves to follow the bard.

By the time Geralt finds them, Jaskier’s shirt is off and he’s all but dry fucking the man whose body is atop him, biting into Jaskier’s soft neck, holding his hands against the bed above his head.

“Get out,” Geralt says firmly and the man snaps his head around to look at him.

“You get out. Can’t you see this room is occupied?”

Geralt seethes. “Get off him and get the _fuck_ out, now,” he repeats, stepping closer.

Jaskier barely even notices he’s arrived, his head thrown back and his body writhing.

The man scoffs and looks from Jaskier to Geralt. “This your little filly, then, is that it? Not my fault your boy’s looking for fun in other-“ and he can’t even finish before Geralt’s got a sword at his chest and his hand in a fist.

“One last time. Out,” he growls, poking the tip of the sword into the mans chest and he makes a pained sound. “Alright, alright, fuck, I’ll go,” he says, picking up his boots and jacket and giving Jaskier one last, dirty look. “Good luck with him, he’s out of his mind with it,” he says, half serious and half jealous, and hurries out the door.

The commotion causes Jaskier to notice Geralt and he whines his name, holding his head in his hands but his body is still moving against somebody who isn’t there. _What the fuck is wrong with him,_ Geralt thinks.

“Jaskier, what’s wrong,” Geralt says, closing the door to the room and moving towards him, “I can’t help you if I don’t know-“

“Hot,” he groans, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, rolling to his side and Geralt sees the usually hidden muscles in his back and arms move beneath sweaty skin. “Need,” and before Geralt can ask _what_ , Jaskier’s on his stomach and practically humping the mattress.

“Fuck, okay,” Geralt murmurs, thinking. His first line of thought - is this a monster? Succubus? Incubus? No, none of those make sense. Jaskier isn’t asleep, and Geralt would be able to feel it nearby. And that man was definitely just a man. Maybe a monster, but human. Geralt thinks back on the night. Buying the room, ordering wine, talking to that woman. It all seemed normal. Except..

“Jaskier. Jaskier! You drank my wine,” he says as if it suddenly makes sense, and he growls.

“Huh?” Jaskier is barely listening, far too strung out and more interested in the bed than he is with any of this. Geralt stands beside him, over him, and rolls him around by the shoulders. He shakes Jaskier lightly. “You drank my drink, didn’t you, you said so, my wine?”

Jaskier nods. It’s hard for him to think about anything right now. But he did. He remembers the stupid little song he made up and sings it outloud to Geralt in a breathless tune. “If he can’t be on time, I get to dr-drink his wine.” He feels electricity where Geralt’s strong hands are on his shoulders and looks into his eyes. “Kiss me.”

Geralt’s speechless. “Jaskier, you’ve drunken a potion, a potion I suspect, meant for me,” he thinks back to the woman he was talking to at the bar. “Which means it’s probably more strong than it should be, certainly more strong than you can handle.”

“You don’t know what I can handle,” Jaskier groans and reaches for Geralt’s shirt, grabbing at him.

“Jaskier, stop,” Geralt says in vain, because if this is indeed a potion, Jaskier can’t just _stop_.

He lets go of Jaskier’s shoulders and the bard huffs, whines. His skin is all prickles and he needs to touch and be touched. Love and be loved. He needs teeth on his collarbone and hands tugging his hair and trousers thrown to the ground in a heap.

Geralt purses his lips and thinks. _How can he fix this?_ He sits in the chair by the small table at the side of the room and he’s barely got his back against the wall before Jaskier throws himself off the bed and into his lap, legs throws over Geralt’s thighs and bodies pushes together. He buries his face in Geralt’s neck and breathes him in. Geralt touches the skin on the back of his neck and it’s burning hot.

“Geralt, I feel,” Jaskier whispers into his skin but he can’t finish, he just pushes his chest into Geralt’s.

“I know Jaskier, it’s not you. You’ve drunk something. It won’t last forever, it’s okay,” he tries to comfort Jaskier and he knows how he must be feeling, how there must be a fire in his throat and his belly and his crotch. “Maybe you should go and.. be alone,” he says awkwardly, clearing his throat.

Jaskier shakes his head. “No, no,” he says almost angrily, frustratedly. “Touch me.” He lifts his head from Geralt’s neck and looks into his eyes. Geralt’s pupils are huge and Jaskier’s even bigger and you could slice through the air with a knife. “I need this. You.” He tugs at Geralt’s shirt and hair and does whatever else he can to put hands on his body. He makes little circles with his hips on Geralt’s lap and presses their foreheads together, a little too hard. Jaskier’s breath is on Geralt’s mouth and he smells like wine and sweet rose and poison.

“I think you,” Geralt says, pushing Jaskier off the chair and taking him by the arms, “Should go to sleep.”

Geralt knows it’s in vain. How the fuck could the kid sleep like this? Jaskier’s looking into his eyes like his world will fall apart if he looks away and he’s biting his lip. Geralt sees the blood there, like red lipstick.

By now, Jaskier isn’t fighting the potion anymore like he was in the bathroom. This feels like all he’s ever known, and he lets it take him over. He lets his fingers grab things that aren’t there, lets his body sway and rock and his lips fall open and all he wants is Geralt to kiss them closed, among other things. It’s easier when he doesn’t fight it, the feelings wash over him pleasantly, albeit overwhelmingly.

Geralt drops Jaskier on the bed and Jaskier hooks his foot around Geralt’s knee before he can escape, dragging him in close. He looks up at Geralt through wet hair and he’s breathing so hard, Geralt doesn’t know how he hasn’t passed out. A lust potion for a human was overwhelming at the best of times, but one intended for a Witcher? Geralt doesn’t know how Jaskier can stand it.

Jaskier yanks his leg in hard and Geralt stumbles, landing with his hands on the bed beside Jaskier, and in a swift movement the bard crawls on top of him and drags the witcher’s hands above his head. Geralt could get rid of him in a second, and yet, he stays. Jaskier pushes his crotch down into Geralt’s and kisses Geralt’s cheek next to his mouth. 

It’s less of a well-executed kiss and more of a I-just-need-my-mouth-to-do-something assault of lips and gasps.

Geralt swallows and this shouldn’t happen, this isn’t Jaskier, really. This is the potion. But _fuck_ , the kid’s so desperate and Geralt won’t admit how many times this scenario has crossed his mind in night dreams, and day dreams. Jaskiers lips move to his and they kiss hard, rough - it’s not sensual and it’s not thoughtful. It’s all of Jaskier’s need and frustration and lust escaping his lips, and Geralt lets it happen, even mouths back a little. Jaskier moans and Geralt smells his scent change from complete wanton frustration to a little bit of satiation, fulfilment.

He justifies it in his head by telling himself this will help Jaskier. And so he lets the bard continue, teeth knocking and lips crushing and sounds escaping. He lets Jaskier grind his body on his, lets him rip open Geralt’s shirt and kiss all over his chest and stomach. Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier’s heart thumps wildly.

They barely speak, Geralt doesn’t know what to say and Jaskier’s too busy doing other things with his mouth. Geralt takes Jaskier by the thighs and picks him up with ease, walking him backwards across the room before his back hits the wall and Geralt shoves his hands into his shoulders, holding him there. Jaskier’s eyes are closed and he’s grinning, baring sharp white teeth and biting his tongue. _Rough,_ Geralt thinks, _rough is working._

Geralt grabs Jaskier by the chin and pushes his head sideways, kissing his throat. His hands drop to Jaskier’s trousers and he unbuttons them, shoving them down his thighs. He looks back to Jaskier’s and Jaskier is unusually still, but his eyes are still huge and his lower lip is hanging open and wet and he’s waiting.

 _No turning back now_ , Geralt thinks, and cups his hand into Jaskier’s crotch and Jaskier practically purrs. He rubs against Geralt’s hand and drops his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and it’s less about passion and more about pure, primal urge. Geralt doesn’t care. Jaskier reaches down and pushes Geralt’s hand away and drops to his knees, fiddling with Geralt’s trousers. Geralt grabs both of his wrists. “No.”

Jaskier’s still for a moment and tips his head up to look at Geralt. He grins wickedly and struggles against Geralt’s hands. “Let me,” he almost snarls and then slyly adds, with a quiet murmur, “I need to do something with my mouth”, and he nibbles at Geralt’s fingers around his wrist. Geralt doesn’t even think, sticks his index and middle finger into Jaskier’s lips and it’s so warm and soft. He closes his eyes and breathes unevenly as Jaskier sucks them into his mouth. Jaskier groans, and Geralt wonders how much control the boy has at this stage. Is he even thinking, or is he acting through the potion alone? Geralt’s thoughts fly out the window when Jaskier bites down on his knuckles hard.

Geralt pulls his hands back involuntarily and swears. Jaskier scrambles across the floor and stands, his trousers around his ankles and nothing else on. Geralt thinks maybe it’s wearing off, maybe Jaskier’s coming back into his mind, maybe this is all over. Instead, Jaskier storms across the room with determination and throws himself against Geralt, sending them both to the mattress. He doesn’t delay, and he tugs Geralt’s trousers down before he can protest and slides their bodies together and even Geralt makes a sound.

Their skin touches and Jaskier sighs. “You want this?” Geralt asks, holding his chin and searching his face for anything unsure, but it’s still just lust and love and sex and sweat. “I always want this,” Jaskier breathes and twists his head out of Geralt’s grip, dropping it down and watching their bodies move together.

And so Geralt obliges, flips them both in one swoop so the bard is beneath him. He takes them both in one hand and rubs them against each other, hot and hard and throbbing together and Jaskier’s hands are clawing at his arms and he’s throwing his head around and desperately trying to force himself to climax. So Geralt takes his other hand and puts it around the bards throat, squeezes, moves to hold his wrists together so all that Jaskier can do is squirm as Geralt lets himself go and just has Jaskier in his hand, tugging hard.

Geralt doesn’t care about himself. He wants Jaskier to scream. He shoves fingers in Jaskier’s mouth again and Jaskier latches onto them like his life depends on it and it only makes Geralt more feverish, another minute or two of pulling Jaskier’s cock and Jaskier’s body tenses and he gasps, head thrown back on the bed with a huge sigh.

It feels like his body floods with ecstasy and then the tingling fades, the fire burns out and the aching in his head and chest disappear. He blinks like he’s waking up for the first time and he tastes blood in his mouth from biting so hard. He comes to and looks down at his body, naked, a mess, and surveys the room. Geralt on all fours on the floor in the corner, calming his breath, forcing his eyes back to normal. Jaskier whispers his name and his head flicks around to make eye contact with Jaskier who looks wild and confused and satisfied and baffled.

Neither of them say anything.

Jaskier groans and lays on his back, his head swimming and he feels hungover and before he can think about what the fuck has just happened to him, he’s pulled into sleep against his will.

The witcher drops his hand, fingers still in the shape of his Somne sign, and wipes his hand over his face. They can talk about this in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> there will be more of this


End file.
